


gone are the days

by kuro49



Series: thirty days of writing '18 [26]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Coping, Dick Grayson is Batman, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 10:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16262342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: The shadow of Bruce Wayne is steep and deep and dark, and Dick has no intention of being in it.The only condolence he takes from this is that Jason is even worse at it than he is. If it cakes like mud in the soles of his boots, then Dick is pretty sure Jason is waist deep and wading through it.





	gone are the days

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: gone are the days. set after bruce disappears and dick is forced to take on the cowl. 
> 
> this is the one where they are both a little bit (a lot) fucked up over bruce but hey, it could always be worse (@dc yeah i'm talking about the human disaster that is fuckboy ric and the mess that is jason somewhere on his own in some apple pie town after getting beaten and the new found knowledge his best friend is DEAD, what the actual _fuck_ ).

 

From this height, they almost rival the top of Wayne Tower.

The drop could be dizzying but he doesn't think about that even if he knows it from experience when Jason joins him on his perch. For old time's sake,  Jason extends a paper bag out at him, containing what must be the apology to whatever he plans to say or do next.

He waits until he takes it before he goes.

“It’s a good look on you.”

With Robin so far in both of their pasts, it is almost laughable if it didn't make them ache when he dons on Batman's mantle. When Dick turns and fully looks at Jason from behind the cowl of another man, they both think this is what might push them off the edge. 

“Now you’re just being cruel.”

Even if it is made in his size, Dick has to admit he is a mess underneath the suit. The cape might be made of something thinner, the armour out of something lighter, but it still weighs on him like rocks in his pockets and concrete cinder blocks tied to his ankles when he makes the leap. Dick wishes Jason would’ve thrown a punch just so this would hurt less, at least the Kevlar on this suit takes a hit better than the underarmour in his Nightwing outfit ever did.

The shadow of Bruce Wayne is steep and deep and dark, and Dick has no intention of being in it. (Jason knows this too, this is why he makes the effort to say anything at all.) This was never his mantle to take, and he hates how it fits.

“When have I ever been kind, Dickie?” Jason goes to laugh at him, and it is all wrong when he follows through with the motion and it comes out quivering in the wind.

Jason finally takes a seat next to him, down along the ledge, and Dick can smell the grease from the paper bag when he pulls out two burgers and a carton of curly fries that he settles between them.

If Dick thinks about it for any length of time, in any depth he allows himself to stretch to, he will realize that this is Jason's way of saying _I'd rather it be you than anyone else_.

 

This is how Dick ends most of his patrols in the recent weeks. He knows it is a terrible idea to wallow in this kind of nostalgia, but grief is a horrible thing to get through, and Dick isn’t so sure if he can get pass that first stage of self-pity. The only condolence he takes from this is that Jason is even worse at it than he is when the two of them find themselves here again.

If it cakes like mud in the soles of his boots, then he is pretty sure Jason is waist deep and wading through it.

 

He remembers being happy.

A temporary relief from the misery that has no intention of letting them go. Death often feels like an appropriate end even if it is not one for them.

 

Gotham is a cesspool of bad intentions and the poor execution of those exact intentions. But there used to be slow nights too, and it is one of these nights that has them finding one another up on a perch high enough to match Wayne Tower.

“Tell me, ‘wing.” Robin says, “even you couldn’t think it was a good idea after your first patrol in this.” 

This is referring to the scaled green short shorts and enough legs on display for anyone to be distracted in close quarter combat. And by anyone, Jason is really finding it to mean exactly anyone. Even this high up on a wayward rooftop, he feels like the late night crawl of stray pedestrians can still see him like a beacon by the shores.

“And if I told you I designed it myself?”

“I want to be surprised by that revelation but you do know I can see what you’re currently wearing, right?” There are many things wrong with what Jason is looking at, and a whole lot of it is yellow _feathers_. “I’ve got eyes even if I really wish I didn’t right now.”

Nightwing laughs and reaches over to ruffle Robin’s hair despite the sharp slap to his hand. They clash horribly, standing next to each other like a terrible rendition of spilled paint. “I hope you’re ready to eat those words because just you wait, little wing. This look is going to be iconic.”

Now it is Robin’s turn to laugh, and the final grin he settles on is bright and wide. “I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

The night is slow, enough so for them to have their guards down. And if Batman isn’t barking down the comm for them to stay vigilant, well, Batman can pick up the slack when he is barely three rooftops away. The night is early and the worst has yet to come.

Not that much can miss the both of them even if they’d tried their damn hardest.

 

For all the bad memories they can conjure up between the two of them alone, there were good times.

It is tough to remember that, and it is tougher to admit to them.

 

Each night, they try for some kind of question and answer where they avoid the one truth neither one of them are ready to say.

“You know right where to hit to hurt him most.” Dick says in between bites, and this has always been what bothered him with Jason’s return. He could have done plenty of things to cripple Bruce before the man ever even knew to think it could be his dead Robin extraordinaire. “But you didn’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jason asks, wrinkling his nose at that like he is smelling the kind of filth you find in the goddamn Gotham sewers.

Dick knows how to read Jason around a domino mask, knew how to do it as the freshly minted Nightwing when half his attention was on the new Titans team. He has only ever gotten better at it. And these are olive branches snapped and mended time and time again. “I’m saying thank you.”

“You shouldn’t thank me.” Jason licks the sauce from his fingertips, turns to look at Dick and refuses to see what should be Bruce. “It’s self-preservation, you know right where to hit to hurt me too.”

“I think that’s called trust, Jay.”

“I don’t have a very good track record with trust, Dickie.” Jason crumples the burger wrapper in his hand, picks a curly fry from the cardboard container sitting between them. “But I don’t think I would’ve done anything differently even if I could.”

Dick can retrace his steps and still manage to end up here, at the edge of this perch, his balance feeling askew even as he stands up at the precipice with no intention to make this fall. He reaches out, snags the fry from between Jason’s fingers and pops it into his mouth. The motion is familiar even when everything else is not.

They are looking out at a clear Gotham sky, and the shadow they have made a habit of trailing after is gone. 

Neither one of them says the words, that he misses him so. Instead, they settle for saying out loud the next best thing.

“If there’s one thing I could change," Dick puts his head down against Jason’s shoulders, taking the precaution not to take a poke at Jason’s eye with the pointed ears of the cowl, "I’d really just rather be in green scaly shorts again.”

Jason doesn't flinch. He focuses on that single point of contact, shifts so Dick can rest his weight on him in full. All things considered, this could be even humour when he finally answers.

"Now who's being cruel?"

 


End file.
